


So Dream a Better Dream of Me

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana leans forward, shooting a glare across Brittany to Finn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Dream a Better Dream of Me

Santana leans forward, shooting a glare across Brittany to Finn.

He’s talking during the movie  _again_  and it’s grating on her very last nerve, like someone running their nails down a chalkboard, only worse, because he’s talking about the merits of Coach Tanaka’s coaching skills in basketball versus his football coaching skills.

"Who cares," Santana growls rhetorically. "You can’t win either way."

Finn frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but Brittany slaps a hand down on Santana’s knee, holding tight, fingernails digging into the fleshy skin.

"I hate this part," she practically whimpers, her hand sliding up as she turns her head away from the television towards Finn, burying her face into his neck. Santana’s leg muscle clenches under Brittany’s hold, but she grits her teeth and slips her own hand between Brittany’s and her leg, lacing their fingers together and glaring at Finn again, because he picked the movie so it’s clearly his fault.

"Don’t worry, B," she says quietly. "It’s almost over."

"Yeah, don’t worry," Finn adds lamely.

A minute later, Brittany turns back to the screen, staying pressed against Finn’s arm, but pulls Santana with her so their thighs are practically overlapping and they’ve created a Brittany-sandwich on one side of the couch in Brittany’s basement.

Santana doesn’t like this new arrangement. She doesn’t like sharing, but when Brittany had come up to Santana’s locker the day after Santana and Finn had slept together, the blond only batted her eyelids a few times, let her hand trace the line of skin between the bottom of Santana’s uniform top and the top of her skirt, and suddenly, without her really agreeing to it, Santana-and-Brittany had become Santana-and-Brittany-and-Finn.

It has its perks, sure. For one, Rachel Berry seems to be in a state of complete denial, but avoids Santana like the plague. And then there’s her reputation: no one will be able to top  _this_ , ever, not even the "celibacy club president gets pregnant" scandal.

But it mostly has its downfalls: the sharing thing, the  _Finn_  thing, the fact that she now spends her Friday nights on the couch in Brittany’s basement actually watching movies.

"Aww," Brittany coos, obviously seeing the scowl on her face. Santana doesn’t humor her; keeps her eyes on the television, watching Dory race around the ocean like a chicken without a head, because looking at Brittany will make her forget that she’s pissed she’s not halfway to second base already and instead, she’s barely holding onto half of Brittany, while Finn has the blond in his lap, almost. "You’re going to get wrinkles."

She feels a warm hand – warm because it’s been wrapped in Finn’s giant paw – trying to smooth the lines of her face, but she only pulls her head away and scowls a little more, narrowing her eyes trying to stay focused on the movie.

Her attempt at focus is shattered when Brittany lifts her head off of Finn’s shoulder and leans in, teeth scraping against Santana’s earlobe. "You know, you’re pretty sexy when you’re all pissed off," she whispers, moving her mouth to Santana’s neck, kissing the smooth skin once before pulling back. "Isn’t she sexy, Finn?"

"Yeah," Finn says hesitantly. "S-sure."

"Shut up, Shark Boy," Santana hisses.

Before she can say anything else – something along the lines of going off and finding Rachel and Jesse and disturbing  _their_  relationship – Brittany is swooping back in, grabbing her by the chin and not giving her a chance to protest, instead, taking advantage of Santana’s mouth being open, swiping her tongue against Santana’s bottom lip before curling around Santana’s tongue, her hand sliding from Santana’s face to tangle in dark hair.

She hears Finn shift in his seat, followed by a hushed  _wow_  and she smirks into the kiss, opening her eyes to look at him.

He stares back at her, not wavering from the eye contact until Brittany sways in between them, reaching back blindly with one hand, finding the collar of Finn’s shirt, pulling him forward.

"Kiss her," Brittany breathes out.

Santana jerks away as Finn leans forward, his eyes shining with the need to do whatever Brittany wants him to do.

"No," Santana says resolutely. "Once is enough for me."

Brittany isn’t going to compromise though, not tonight and Santana can tell, by the line of her mouth and the look in her eyes. Brittany wants something, and she’s going to get her way, because Finn is eager to please and Santana is helpless to do anything but play along.

"Brittany," she whines, her last ditch effort, but Brittany is already grinning, tugging Finn forward again and latching onto Santana’s bottom jaw with her mouth, sucking and biting her way down to the neckline of Santana’s shirt.

Finn’s face looms over hers for a slight moment of hesitation before he glances down briefly at Brittany between them and seems to physically steel himself, leaning that last inch as his lips cling a little to hers.

He breaks the kiss and she licks her lips reflexively. He tastes like the meat lovers pizza he devoured an hour ago (there’s another drawback, she reminds herself: he’s  _always_  eating) but there’s a hint of vanilla that tells her exactly what he and Brittany did while she was in the bathroom before the movie started. It makes her a little angry, but more turned on, really, and she ignores Brittany’s hands running along her stomach and lunges forward, catching the corner of Finn’s mouth in her teeth.

When she opens her eyes again, she’s switched seats with Brittany and is pressed against Finn’s front, his hands wrapped around and under her thighs. She blushes and pulls away, drawing in a slow breath and turning around to find Brittany.

The blond is sitting in the corner, smiling smugly at them, twisting her fingers together innocently. "That was hot," she says pleasantly. "Like, super hot."

"Like lava hot," Finn says brightly, moving his hands up around the small of Santana’s back, holding her in place. "Lava girl," he says, but so quietly that Santana is sure he doesn’t mean to say it out loud at all.

"Like  _I-wish-I-had-a-camera_  hot."

Santana rolls her eyes and cants her hips forward, pushing against Finn’s body, smirking when he gasps a little and his mouth drops open.

Brittany slides up behind her, her body fitting around Santana’s easily, perched on her knees over Finn’s legs and it presses her harder against Finn so that his mouth doesn’t close but stays hanging open so long that Brittany leans over Santana’s shoulder and closes it, laughing a little when he blushes.

"She told me you didn’t like it," Brittany says in a tone that neither of them can identify.

Now Santana is blushing too, glad she’s not facing Brittany, her forehead hot against Finn’s temple.

"We should try again," Brittany continues. "The three of us. Because you’re probably not good at it, Finn. Not yet, maybe," she says, slyly, moving her mouth from behind Santana’s ear down to her shoulder. "And ‘cause I don’t want Santana to hurt you if it’s just you and me."

"I don’t think-"

"No. Way."

Brittany’s mouth turns down in a pout that Santana can feel against her skin and when Brittany’s hands ghost across her thighs to wrap around Finn’s belt buckle, Finn shivers against Santana’s body, arching up so that she has to slide back against Brittany and  _she_  shivers, sure that that was Brittany’s plan to begin with: to get her riled up.

"It could be fun," she whispers loud enough for both of them to hear.

Finn’s head bumps against her forehead in agreement and she can hear him whisper, "Come on, Lava Girl," like he’s smooth and suave, or something.

"Can it,  _Shark Boy_ ," she murmurs, but she’s already making up her mind to go through with it, because it’s been too long and Brittany smells like pineapples behind her and Finn, all warm and giant hands under her,  _really_  didn’t like it the first time they tried and that’s the one, solitary black mark on her record.

It’s for the sake of her perfect score and for the noise Brittany makes when Santana’s tongue touches her hipbone.

At least, that’s what she’s telling herself as her fingers twine with Brittany’s pulling at Finn’s belt buckle.


End file.
